by Merry Farmer
As Phoebe straightened and turned back to Danny, her heart twisted and sank. “It’s perfect,” she sighed, lowering her head. “But there’s no possible way I could afford this.”
He crossed the room in a few strides, coming to stand immediately in front of her and placing a hand under her chin. “Hey,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes turning to more of a spark as he nudged her to look at him. “Don’t worry about rent. We’ll work something out.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but before a single word made it past her lips, his mouth was on hers. She gasped as he slipped an arm around her, molding his lips to hers in a kiss that spun her head and took her breath away. He nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before increasing the ardor of his kiss and sliding his tongue against hers. Phoebe made a sound deep in her throat, but it wasn’t one of protest. Her arms circled his sides, but not to push him away.
She’d gone completely mad. Sense screamed at her to back away at once. She wasn’t fool enough not to realize what working something out as rent payment meant. But that didn’t stop her heart from banging against her ribs or her sex from throbbing as he caressed her back and held her closer while devouring her with the most powerful kiss she’d ever received.
“This might be a good time for me to admit that I live upstairs,” he whispered against her lips, loosening his hold on her.
Yes, there was no doubt whatsoever what he intended her to pay for the privilege of staying in this beautiful flat.
“Is that so?” she asked breathlessly.
He nodded, grinning as though he’d discovered a treasure, letting her go, but taking only a half-step back. “So what do you think? Is this the home for you?” Hope that was almost tender shone in his eyes.
“I—” Phoebe pressed a hand to her stomach.
Could she really do it? Could she offer herself to a man she barely knew in exchange for a roof over her head? Every silly, teasing thing Imogen and Hilda said came back to her. Women were probably lining up to share Danny’s bed. And yet, he’d told her he didn’t have a sweetheart. That could be a lie. Though as far as she knew, he hadn’t lied to her once in their short acquaintance.
“I have to think about it,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and went on. “I have to consult with Mama.”
“Then by all means, consult away.” He took a larger step back, his voice booming again and his smile crassly broad.
Phoebe sucked in a breath, marveling at Danny. He was loud and boisterous, he’d taken an astounding liberty with her person, but mad as it felt, she still felt safe with him. Far safer than she had with Lord Cosgrove.
“I should go,” she said, heading for the door.
“Let me walk you down,” Danny said, following her. “And I’ll call you another cab.”
“You don’t have to,” she said over her shoulder, trying not to feel as though she were fleeing as she headed down the stairs. “The boarding house is only a handful of blocks from here. And I need the walk to think.”
“Understood,” Danny said. She caught a peek at his expression as they reached the ground floor. He did understand. Far more than she might have wanted him to. His gaze as he watched her walk down the hall to the outside door was as good as a caress. “You know where to find me with your answer,” he called after her as she stepped out to the street.
“I know,” she said over her shoulder. “And thank you,” she hesitated, then added, “Danny.”
The smile he sent her was a delicious reward for using his given name. It sent all sorts of dangerous swirls swooping through her gut and lower.
She hurried along to the cross street, turning towards Mrs. Jones’s boarding house, pressing a hand to her stomach and feeling as though she’d gotten in over her head. She must have lost her mind entirely to even consider the offer Danny had made. No woman of respect and dignity would trade her body for a place to live. But the more she thought about the possibility, the more she ached to do just that. It didn’t feel like a wicked compromise at all. Phoebe was filled with the mad feeling that she would have gone to bed with Danny for the price of another pie, or perhaps for nothing at all. She might actually be looking forward to it. And what kind of a woman did that make her?
Chapter 6
Two days later, Phoebe was back at the Fitzrovia flat, up to her eyeballs in chaos.
“That bureau goes in the front bedroom,” she told the pair of removers who were carrying the borrowed furniture up two flights of stairs. “Thank you,” she added as she hurried past them to where Natalia Townsend was attempting to unroll a large, Persian carpet in the center of the main room while balancing her infant son in her arms. “Natalia, you don’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense,” Natalia said, waving away Phoebe’s attempts to stop her and shuffling young master Dennis in her arms. “I was the one who convinced Henrietta and Fergus to loan you all of their unused furniture, so I should be the one to help you place it.”
“At least let me hold the baby,” Phoebe insisted, reaching for Dennis.
Baby Dennis fussed and squirmed and wriggled in his mother’s arms. “He really doesn’t like anyone other than me holding him,” Natalia said, still trying to push the rolled-up carpet with her foot while simultaneously trying to soothe Dennis.
“I’ll handle the carpet then,” Phoebe said, shaking her head.
She couldn’t believe the turn her life had taken in the last two days. On Thursday morning, she was convinced her life had reached the direst crossroads possible. She and her mother had been on the verge of being homeless, and they were most certainly friendless. Two days later, and she was moving into a beautiful, safe flat and had been granted the free use of more furniture than she could possibly have used. All because Natalia Townsend had dropped by Mrs. Jones’s boarding house unexpectedly on Thursday evening, just as Phoebe had returned from viewing the flat. Natalia, Phoebe’s one remaining friend in society, had listened to Phoebe’s story of woe and immediately rallied her own forces to come to Phoebe’s aid.
“Henrietta and Fergus are in Ireland at the moment, of course,” Natalia chattered as Dennis fussed, Phoebe unrolled the carpet, and the removers continued to tramp in and out of the flat, bringing in more borrowed furniture. “Fergus’s sisters are causing him no end of grief. I found them to be perfectly delightful, didn’t you?”
“They were spritely,” Phoebe said, puffing as she finished with the carpet and dragged it to exactly the position she wanted it in the center of the room. The O’Shea sisters were some of the most outlandish and unconventional women Phoebe had ever met. They had made her miserable mission to Ireland the summer before even more colorful than it could have been.
“Fergus is determined to marry them all off now to get them to settle,” Natalia went on. “But I don’t think they’ll ever truly behave the way everyone seems to want them to. And why should they? Women who behave are terribly dull.”
Phoebe glanced up at her friend with a wary look. No one knew better than Natalia how to be unconventional. She was the daughter of one of London’s most powerful and notorious women, Lady Katya Campbell, and she had married a humble doctor, Dr. Linus Townsend, after being caught in a compromising position with him on an island in the middle of the Irish Sea the summer before. Natalia had the last laugh in the end, though. Dr. Townsend was the talk of London with his efforts to bring medical aid to poorer neighborhoods in the city. He’d spoken before Parliament three times in the last year and was lauded as a social visionary. And while he and Natalia continued to live under Henrietta and Fergus’s roof so that Linus could serve as Fergus’s personal physician, they more or less had the entire townhouse to themselves whenever Henrietta and Fergus were in Ireland.
“Oh!” Natalia gasped, seemingly out of the blue. “I have to tell you all the latest about the May Flowers.”
Phoebe turned to her from where she was directing the removers to place the various sofas, chairs, and decorative cabinets in the main room.
“Do I want to know what the May Flowers are up to?” Ever since Henrietta had stepped down as head of the women’s political organization—after the failed vote over Irish Home Rule, really—the May Flowers had been split down the middle and rife with conflict.
“Lady Claudia and her cabal still won’t leave outright,” Natalia said with a longsuffering sigh. “Everyone wishes they would simply shove off and create their own organization. Lenore believes they’re hanging on simply to disrupt things.”
Phoebe hummed and began moving crates of dishes, utensils, and other kitchen items that Natalia had secured for her from Henrietta’s house into the kitchen. “Lenore Garrett is American,” she called over her shoulder to Natalia, who had managed to quiet Dennis by bouncing him against her shoulder. “She comes from the wild American West. She’s likely to see conflict anywhere.”
“Lenore is an absolute dream,” Natalia said, meeting Phoebe at the kitchen door as she headed back into the main room. “I’m so glad Freddy decided to marry her. London has never seen anything like her. Not even from the other dollar princesses stealing our titled gentlemen.”
Phoebe shot Natalia a wary look as she went to move another box. She didn’t know much about Lenore Garrett, but she thought she knew a little something about Lord Frederick Herrington. Specifically, that he was particular friends with Lord Reese Howsden in a way that would preclude him from engaging himself to a woman at all.
“Have they set a date for the wedding?” she asked Natalia, wondering if her friend knew the open secret.
“Of course not,” Natalia said, laughing. “But, oh! You should have been there to see the way she took on Lady Jane at the last May Flowers meeting.”
Phoebe grinned as she passed Natalia on her way into the kitchen once more. Just like that, they’d moved on to a subject other than the odd engagement between Lenore Garrett and Frederick Harrington.
“Apparently everyone is up in arms about this land development deal in Earl’s Court,” Natalia said.
Phoebe nearly dropped the box she’d been carrying. “Earl’s Court?” It was the deal Lord Cosgrove had dangled over her, like a carrot before a donkey, to get her to accept his proposal.
“Yes,” Natalia followed Phoebe as she crossed back into the main room to fetch the last of the crates. “Apparently, whoever wins that parliamentary contract will be in a position to make a killing building and selling houses.”
“Is that so?” Phoebe crossed her again on her last trip into the kitchen. Perhaps Lord Cosgrove was right about his prospects after all. If he won the contract.
As she set the last crate down in the kitchen, the thought crossed her mind that Danny claimed to be a real estate developer too. She wondered if he was aware of Earl’s Court.
“Linus told me that there are two major contenders for the contract,” Natalia went on as Phoebe paused to pour herself a glass of water and dab the sweat of working hard off her brow. “He doesn’t know who they are, but he hinted that competition to win the contract could turn fierce.”
“And this is something that concerns the May Flowers?” Phoebe asked between sips of water.
“You cannot possibly imagine,” Natalia said, making her eyes large with wariness, as though remembering some sort of argument. “Now that the Irish Question is no longer as interesting as it once was, and considering that the May Flowers are divided on the topic of women’s suffrage, it’s as though everyone is grasping at whatever issue they think might make a splash. Of course, Cece wants the May Flowers to champion the cause of affordable housing for all to solve the current housing crisis. But Lady Claudia and her cabal are more interested in supporting the interests of the upper classes.”
Phoebe finished her water, set her glass on the small kitchen counter, and started back into the main room. “What does that have to do with the price of bread?”
“Well, as I understand it,” Natalia said, trailing her back into the main room, “one of the companies bidding for the development contract is owned by a peer.”
“Lord Cosgrove,” Phoebe said. “Or so he told me.”
“And the other is owned by a commoner,” Natalia said with a renewed spark of interest in her eyes. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“As exciting as land development could be,” Phoebe said with a wry grin. Politics must have been dreary and dull indeed if Natalia was exciting herself over the housing crisis and parliamentary contracts.
The conversation was cut short as Phoebe’s mother shrieked from the larger of the two bedrooms, “No, no, you cannot put that there. It doesn’t belong there.” A moment later, she scurried into the main room and locked eyes with her daughter. “Phoebe! Come tell these horrible men not to manhandle my wardrobe as they are.”
Phoebe sighed and approached her mother. “They are doing the best they can, Mama.” She stepped into the doorway of the bedroom only to find everything exactly as it should have been.
Her mother crept up to her back and peeked over her shoulder, as if using Phoebe as a shield against rough men who would importune her character. “Well, they’ve done it right now.”
“Mama,” Phoebe scolded, pushing her mother back toward the center of the flat. “Leave the removers to do their job. You can fuss and fiddle over the flat as soon as they’ve brought all of the furniture in and placed it.”
“It’s just so horrible,” her mother squealed. “To have so many men crawling all over our flat like this.” She gave an overdramatic shudder to prove her point. “It’s bad enough that we have to live in Fitzrovia.” She spoke the name as though it were a sewer.
“It’s a perfectly beautiful flat, Mama,” Phoebe said, shaking her head and moving to adjust the placement of a chair near the empty fireplace.
“But it’s not Mayfair,” her mother whined. “Oh, how our circumstances had been reduced.”
“You like the flat,” Phoebe reminded her mother. “You said as much yesterday when you toured it.”
“I said I liked it enough for a flat in Fitzrovia.” Her mother sniffed. “And it lies across the street from a pub.”
“A right nice pub too.” The comment was made in a booming voice by Danny as he barged through the flat’s open door.
Phoebe’s mother let out a dramatic cry and scurried to hide behind Phoebe, shaking her hands as though the world were about to come to an end. Phoebe’s gut filled with butterflies at the sight of Danny. He was tall and broad and loud in every way. His blue eyes glittered, and his dark hair curled wildly. The sheer breadth of his smile as he approached Phoebe and her mother made him look half mad, but Phoebe suspected that was on purpose to tease her mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Darlington, Phoebe,” he all but roared in greeting.
Phoebe sent him a sardonic grin, trying not to laugh at his antics. Her look hid the lingering temptation and uncertainty of the moment that had passed between them when he offered her the flat, though. They still hadn’t discussed the deal in explicit terms, and not knowing how or when so-called payment would be exchanged had Phoebe on tenterhooks.
“It’s Lady Darlington to you, sir,” Phoebe’s mother sniffed, standing straighter.
“Sorry.” Danny winked at Phoebe. “Lady Darlington.”
“No, I’m Lady Darlington,” Phoebe’s mother said, her fear melting into indignation.
Danny put on a look of exaggerated confusion. “Isn’t she Darlington too?”
“Yes, but—”
“And she’s a lady.” Danny sent Phoebe a wildly inappropriate look, dropping his voice to an improper purr as he spoke. It made Phoebe burn, inside and out.
“She is Lady Phoebe,” Phoebe’s mother said with an impatient cluck, blessedly missing the flirtation entirely. “I am Lady Darlington.”
“It’s all the same to me,” Danny said with a shrug and a sniff that made him seem as ill-mannered as a street urchin. Which Phoebe believed was the point. “I came to see how things were getting along here,” he went on. He made a show of noticing Natalia, then s
miled and greeted her with, “Hello, Mrs. Dr. Townsend.”
“Heavens! Where are my smelling salts,” Phoebe’s mother said, staggering to grip the back of the sofa that the removers had just placed in the center of the room. “I never thought I’d see the day when a man like that addressed the daughter of an earl in such a low manner.”
“Mr. Long is friends with my husband, Lady Darlington,” Natalia said with a laugh that shook Dennis out of the slumber he’d fallen into. “He’s friends with Lord Marlowe, Lord Clerkenwell, and Lord Howsden as well.”
Phoebe’s brow raised. She’d forgotten Danny was so well-connected. It left her wondering how Danny had fallen into company with the likes of Rupert Marlowe and Reese Howsden to begin with.
“He could be friends with the devil, for all I care,” Phoebe’s mother said, fanning herself with one hand. “A man like him simply does not speak to a woman of refinement in such a way.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Danny said in perfect imitation of an upper-class accent. “Do forgive me, Mrs. Townsend. Terribly sorry.”
Natalia laughed. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Long.” She shot Phoebe a bright look.
“The removers are almost finished bringing in the furniture,” Phoebe said, taking a few steps closer to Danny. “All that’s left to do is arrange things the way we want them and to unpack sundries.”
“Unpacking sundries.” Danny’s smile filled with mischief. “Let me know if you need any help with that.”
Phoebe sucked in a breath in spite of herself. She absolutely should not, in any way, shape, or form, react in such a visceral way to Danny’s lascivious teasing. But everything about the man excited her in ways that her mother absolutely would not approve of.
“I think we can manage on our own,” she said, her lips twitching with the need to smile and flirt as blatantly as he was.
For a moment, she could have sworn Danny would swoop forward, gather her in his arms the way he had when he first showed her the flat, and kiss her senseless. But with her mother, Natalia, and half a dozen removers wandering in and out, there was no way even someone as wicked as Danny would attempt such a thing.
